


Red Eyes, Red Glare

by Nobodyhasblindedme



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Petstuck (Homestuck), Alternate Universe - Reverse Petstuck (Homestuck), Freeform, Minor Violence, Other, it's reverse petstuck, might get second chapter might not, technically, the humans are pets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-15
Packaged: 2019-06-27 18:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15690525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nobodyhasblindedme/pseuds/Nobodyhasblindedme
Summary: Terezi didn't ask for this - but the little alien didn't either so she guesses that makes them even.





	Red Eyes, Red Glare

**Author's Note:**

  * For [botgal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/botgal/gifts).



> Based on a prompt found on your blog - unfortunately I lost the post it was referring to, but I remember the concept and thought it was v cute. I hope I'm not overstepping by filling it: "Reverse petstuck situation where Terezi finds Dave as a little kid on the battlefield after Earth is taken over. Bonding happens."

The little thing won’t stop shivering. 

It’s not exactly cold on your ship, but the climate control isn’t highblood standard either. The one you and your crew were handed wasn’t second hand at least, but it wasn’t like the Impartial Parliament of Legislacerators and Judicicinerators was rolling in caegars. Especially not for under-neophytes like you, and  _especially_ not for shitwiffing bottom-listed ‘we’re-only-calling-this-a-mission-to-satisfy-legalities’ missions like this. 

Needless to say, your first couple sweeps out of the Academy and taking a stab (or twenty, now) at ascending that ladder is going  _great._

It had its charms, you suppose, at one point. Earth. Not that you'd ever been, prior to the official start of the war of course, but you'd seen pictures, vids; spent some sleep-deprived and writing-blocked days perusing some of their translated sites for shits and tired giggles with your similarly study-addled Accadamy blockmates, but, been there? It was a mudball planet. The species hadn't even left the orbit of their own damn moon, much less been sophisticated enough to offer literally anything of interest to anyone who didn't get throbbing wigglies for, like, rock composition and xenobiology.

Which is to say, not you. 

Actually, Ykezma better be damn thankful you'd been looking for a change of pace lately and had agreed to take the assignment in her honor so she could (skip ship with her blackberry blooded hatemate for a drone passing)  _take care of_  a tricky accounting situation with a reputable Indigo who ran a small off-ship company on a colony on some moon or another. All official. You never did tell her about your own connections up and down the ladder, and what kinds of delicious info that got you in a pinch. 

Nevertheless, Earth. Hm. There it had been. 

The 'mission' was simple. Feed these coordinates to the helm. Chart a course. Make landfall via these second set of coordinates. Collect these things from this demolished city, yes we know they're there, pre-phyte Pyrope, we wouldn't cull you so unstylishly. 

The landing went well. The city had been... You've never been spooked easily. You'd learned to hang your own fears out to dry like a guilty scalemate pretty early, and then to put on a good grin when something really shook you. But. That city, buildings like metal talons of some great giant stuck half-way reaching out of the ground to drag you down...their once-glimmering mirror faces pockmarked with broken panes in black voids..

And things moved in the darkness. Sometimes it was just animal that you were careful not to make the mistake of drawing on when they'd startle across the road or from craters and ruble.

Sometimes it was something else that was much smarter then that. 

You didn't let yourself pay attention to that. 

The find also went well enough. The building was a warehouse, standing as the sole surviving member of a group of them clustered around what remained of a cargo scuttletram track. The pickup was a bunch of crates already marked by crews for Imperial requisition...your symbol stamped on them, along with a detailed list of their contents for you to personally investigate and see it _all_ got back to where it was meant to go. 

The discovery, however, was not in your itinerary, nor did it go in what you would refer to remotely as 'well'. 

It had all happened in what felt like the blink  of an eye - hell, with how fast it seemed to be moving, you weren't sure that wasn't actual hyperbole. 

There had been a lot of red. Too bright, even in the low light of the decrepit building. A familiar red. 

But it's source was all wrong. 

There weren't many, just a small clan of them, their numbers greater then your little pickup party, but even so, they came at you with improvised mele weaponry- clubs and blades of Earth-quality steel. Pathetic. You could have taken them down with half the party you'd arrived with. In fact, you didn't so much as swing a parry with any of them yourself

until the shadow flashed past your vision, and all of a sudden three of your crewmembers were lying on the floor, color pooling around them from their near-decapitated heads. 

You would later muse, over multiple lacerations that had nothing to do with your job description, a pared down and spooked-shitless crew (and a spooked-shitless you for that matter) that you were lucky. So, so lucky.

Lucky that they had all been half-starved. Lucky that you'd had the highground in tech. Lucky that for once, you'd tucked more into your hostler then your standard-issue caneblade and the plasma clip was loaded. 

Like you'd ever say so aloud. (She 'could just _feeeeeeeel_ these things, ok?').

It had been...an impressive specimen, you think. Almost as tall as you, and despite the general conditions about it - the crumbling cityscape, filthy warehouse, the very picture of post-wartime urban decay - it looked... in it's prime. Not that you knew much about human physiology. Sharp features in canvas-pale, it's hair like straw. It's mouth twisted into what might have been an impressive snarl had it not shown preybeast-blunt chompers.

It seemed almost a pity, all that red splattered about as it gasped out nonsense monkey speech, gurgled and hitching in it's last breaths. your own color was stark against it, one arm on fire from a swipe you'd not been able to dodge and instead had to take in order to make a move of your own. Your crewmembers were sweeping the rest of the building at your orders, but you stood before this creature, bearing witness to the foe that almost had you. 

A call to your comm and hearhandles both drew your attention from the dying thing, and your own wounds. 

"Found somethin' good, ma'am," crackled the device, and you suppress the want to sigh. This was already going to make for a longer report then you felt like writing up, not to mention you might be 'reviewed for competence' thanks to the taskforce members lost, and that would pull you out of the missions pool when you'd fought for perigees to even make that cut...

The human is still when you kick it's body.

The red makes for nice accents on your boots. 

 

\----

 

"You can't stay down there," you say, knowing full well it couldn't understand a word. "You're only doing yourself a disservice."

So here you are, compounding the aches already sinking into your body with kneeling on the floor trying your best not to glare too hard at the little shit refusing to move an inch from where it had sequestered itself under the workbench. 

It had kicked such a hiss fit when the crew members had swept the warehouse after the fight and you were distracted with the ringleader, screaming and thrashing in their arms like an angry seasnake and spitting just as much poison. It had chewed almost through the makeshift cloth muzzle by the time you'd gotten back to the ship, the hellfire in its eyes...refreshing. 

Yeah...ok, so you went there. It was just...kinda nice to see something that wasn't just another of your own kind dig in its heels and utterly refuse to give ground once and a great while. Not like the empire came across many challenges anymore, and not like those challenges were very. Well. Challenging. 

You unclench your jaw and try again. "Filthy, hungry, uncomfortable - c'mon, do I have to offer you the Imperial Crown Trident and the Battleship Condescension itself to convince you all I want you to do is take a bath and cram a mealbar in your facegash?" 

You know nothing of what you're offering is making it past the language barrier, but maybe something about what you're laying down is being picked up if by nothing else then tone, because those ruby eyes glint out from the shadows as they narrow and the ball its made of itself loosens by a degree. A single degree. It's...considering. You've been honing your skills in the little leagues of Legislaceration with common petty criminals enough to recognize an opening, even if it is on an alien. 

"Not like you've got much else of a choice, baby barkbeast. You're here whether you like it or not. Might as well be comfortable."

It's still glaring at you, the rags of the gag hanging in tatters around its neck and its hands are clenched into tiny fists were it's curled around its soft midsection. You're surprised it hasn't pulled back its lips and actually hissed at you, but you can't remember if uh...if...uh, this alien species of some name you totally recall just decide not to use, is even capable of that, and you're not about to lose your progress to dive into research now. What it _does_ do, however, is  utter a short series of unintelligible sounds, hooting and sighing and high-pitched squeals. 

You blink, and it just continues to shoot hot plasma at you from under that lusus -white shag of hair. 

"This conversation is just gonna go in circles, isn't it." It's not a question, and no one actually needed to hear it, but the little thing glances away from you for once to swipe a grimy hand over its face, the smallest of sniffles sounding too loud in the confined quarters. Well shit. 

You're trying to stop yourself from chewing your lip to pieces as you contemplate the pros and cons of reaching down and just dragging it out damn the torpedoes would be, when the inner-ship network ping loudly into the tense air. 

_"Standing Captain Pyrope, your presence is required on the control deck; ISS_ Windfall _hailing and requesting we open a comm,"_  comes the steady voice of one of the senior Ensigners or another who's names you totally learned and really care about right now. The little alien stiffens at the voice, eyes going wide and flickering to look out past your shoulder as it thought the person were in the room. Muttering something foul, you sit up properly,bemoaning your lost efforts. 

Sighing, you sit back a little, still staring at the desk. The little network station is near the door, and wouldn't you have dreamed to be one of those fancy motherfuckers to have voice-command ones installed, but seeing as that, as well as decent heating/cooling systems are too good for your ilk, it's key-pad operated only, and you really, _really_ don't want to leave your post. 

The thought of missing this call in particular though... Oh, sure, you have an idea who it might be, and boy oh boy you're not...thrilled to be taking it. 

Not too thrilled to be missing it either, and you're not a very flapable person but the thought of your looming evaluation is more then a bit persuasive. 

You lean down again, and take off your glasses so the little alien can see your Most Serious Look. "You are going to stay right fucking here, got it?"

Idiotic, where else you it go when you are fully planning on locking down the door all the way to manual-override needed (as well as everything else in the room) but you think it might get the message for the first time anyway when it curls ever further into itself, but locks eyes with you again. 

The network pings again. _"Standing Captain?"_

"I hear ya, fuss-pustule. God help us if someone can actually _do_ anything on this tin can that isn't standing around getting whiffed by Imperial sniffnubs." 

You raise an eyebrow at the alien as you grumble to the Ensigneer who can't hear you and is still talking. It gives you nothing but a stiff mouth and unreadable face. 

Right then. 

"I'll be back, baby barkbeast. We'll see who...figures out what to do who last." 

Message fucking received. 

 


End file.
